


Stagemanage

by marginaliana



Series: Abandoned Top Gear Snippets [3]
Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: The rain has put a damper on the mood of the trip and none of the crew seems to have the heart for lingering in the bar. James and Richard have long since disappeared, and Andy is just getting ready to turn in himself when Jeremy sidles up behind him and sets one large, warm hand onto his shoulder. It's funny how he can always tell it's Jeremy, even without seeing him or hearing him. Proximity is enough."Come up with me?" Jeremy murmurs.





	Stagemanage

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this much but I never really had a plan for how it was going to go and I think I've run out of oomph on this one. So here's some unfinished porn/feelings.

It's not as if Andy is blind. Not as if he can't tell what's going on between them now that they're free from the shackles of the BBC. It's all there for anyone to see, if they know how to look. The sly smile Jeremy gives when he meets Richard's eye across the room. The way James laughs louder and more often. The way Richard stands too close to whichever of them is in reach. 

If Andy were directing the story of the three of them, he'd have built it in pairs first: James and Richard, a slow progression of intimacy from James until Richard realized what was happening and made the last leap himself. Maybe in the garage, smudged dirty with oil and grease, James' hands lifting Richard up onto the bonnet of some car or other so that they can kiss more easily. Then Richard and Jeremy, with Richard high on the success of things with James and wanting Jeremy, too, wanting all the things he'd never thought he could have. Maybe in the dark outside a hotel while they're on a shoot, Jeremy gone out for a smoke and Richard following him just to start things in private. Maybe Richard stepping close and running his hands up Jeremy's chest and saying, "C'mon then. Don't you want to?" Then Jeremy and James, this time at James' flat over a curry and beers, Jeremy waiting until James is loosened up by the alcohol before he dares bring it up. "Richard says you won't throw me out if I kiss you," he might say, and then James would laugh and turn to swing one leg over Jeremy's lap and pull him in for a kiss.

And then, at last, all three together. Andy doesn't quite know where he would set it. Maybe in a hotel room, a blank slate on which to draw the shape of this new relationship. Or maybe Jeremy's flat, which puts the focus on him, symbolically. It's not a bad storyline. Maybe that's even how it was. How it is. He can't tell from outside.

He doesn't begrudge them the happiness, not after all they've been through in the past year. Not when it puts that smile on Jeremy's face (he probably ought to be afraid of how much he'd do to make Jeremy smile). But he loves them all – has loved them all for years, with the sort of helpless devotion that comes when people make you proud, make you laugh, make you dream of kisses and hands and then wake up hard and gasping. It had taken him a long time to accept that last bit and what it meant, but he's comfortable with it now. It's not something he'd ever explored with someone else, but he knows it to be true. 

But he'd thought they were straight, of course. Even Jeremy, who he's supposed to know inside and out (and doesn't _that_ sting).

Now it seems like they're just too wrapped up in each other to think of him. Or maybe it's just that they don't _want_ him, which is reasonable enough. He's old and going bald and too round in the middle. Sure, Jeremy is all those things, too, but he's got flash and sparkle enough to make up for it. It's easy to be attracted to Jeremy – lots of people are, even these days. Whereas Andy is not flashy in the slightest. The three of them don't owe him that kind of interest. Their friendship, maybe, but not attraction.

And so if he sometimes aches, imagining the three of them together, then that's his business. No one has to see it except the dark ceiling of his hotel room, late at night on location when he can hear them padding down the hallway to each other.

When the three of them start watching him, though, he doesn't know what to think. Is it just wariness, the fear that he'll have found them out and will feel obligated to say something about it? He'd like to think they know him better than that, and anyway who would he even say something _to_? Not the higher ups at Amazon, who really could not give a fuck. Not the papers, certainly. And none of them has anyone they might be betraying, not now.

But if it isn't that, then why?

It gets even stranger when Andy realizes that it's circled back around again, that he's watching them and they're watching him watch them. It makes his head ache every time he thinks about it, trying to figure out who knows what or who thinks they know what, or even if there's anything to know at all. He can't even figure out what's going to happen next, but he thinks it will be soon.

And he's right. They're in France, having spent all day driving through the rain and then ended up in some cheap hotel, arranged for convenience of location over luxury. The rain has put a damper on the mood of the trip – they're probably going to have to adjust the theme for the film, make the weather a feature somehow – and none of the crew seems to have the heart for lingering in the bar. James and Richard have long since disappeared, and Andy is just getting ready to turn in himself when Jeremy sidles up behind him and sets one large, warm hand onto his shoulder.

It's funny how he can always tell it's Jeremy, even without seeing him or hearing him. Proximity is enough.

"Come up with me?" Jeremy murmurs.

Andy doesn't turn. "Get some rest, Jez."

Jeremy's hand squeezes his shoulder. "Come up with me." It's not quite a command, but Jeremy is infinitely more persuasive when he's suggesting rather than demanding. Andy could say no – he _has_ said no to that tone of voice plenty of times in the past – but it takes effort and anyway he's tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"All right, all right."

The hand stays on him all the way up in the lift; Andy's skin prickles at the touch, even through the fabric of his tee-shirt. He doesn't know what to think – he doesn't dare let himself guess for fear of getting his hopes up. At the door to the room Jeremy has to let go long enough to pull his key from his pocket and stick it into the lock, but then his hand is back again, steering Andy inside.

James and Richard are already there; James is slumped in the room's lone chair and Richard is curled across his lap, hands in James' hair. It's an unmistakable position, though all they're doing is sitting there. Andy sucks in a sharp breath at the sight. The door closes behind him with a click.

"Say you'll join us," Jeremy says. His hand slides up the back of Andy's neck, fingers just brushing his hairline.

"I— You sure?" Andy says. He can feel himself beginning to shiver. Richard looks eager and James looks sly, but it's Jeremy who answers.

"Of course," he says simply. "You can't think I'd have wanted to do this without you."

He should be saying yes, Andy knows. But— "Then why wait until now to ask me?"

"Wanted to make sure I wouldn't fuck it up first," Jeremy says. "You've had to handle a lot of me fucking up this year. I… I didn't want this to be something you'd have to stage manage, you know?"

Christ, that's a breathtaking thought, to know that Jeremy has been thinking this much of what Andy might want. "Jez—" Suddenly he has to turn and look Jeremy in the eye, just _has_ to. He turns, lifts his head, and then finds himself pinned by the intensity of Jeremy's gaze. 

"Say you'll join us," Jeremy says again, and now he sounds a little unsure. "I mean, if you don't want—"

"You know I do," says Andy. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Richard making a fist pumping gesture, but he doesn't even have time to laugh before Jeremy kisses him.

It's as good as he'd ever imagined. Jeremy kisses like he does everything – with a powerful focus, demanding as much in return. Andy loses himself in the heat of it, the feeling of Jeremy's hands, one on the back of his neck and the other on his hip, pulling them flush up against each other. He's old enough that it takes his cock a little while to get interested, but it's quicker today than it's been in years. Jeremy feels strong and solid, confident in the way he kisses Andy's mouth open and swallows the resulting gasp. And yeah, there is something intensely arousing about knowing that he doesn't have to write the script for how this goes. Knowing that he can trust Jeremy to give him what he needs.

They kiss for long minutes, Andy clinging to the lapels of Jeremy's shirt and groaning as they grind against each other. His cock is heavy and his lips feel puffed and sore from the rasp of Jeremy's stubble, the scrape of his teeth. At last he pulls away with a wrench and buries his face against Jeremy's neck, kissing warm skin and tracing a path down into the vee of his shirt. Jeremy groans and grips him tighter.

When they finally part, Jeremy pushes him backwards towards the bed. Andy turns, catches sight of Richard and James still wrapped together in the chair. _Jesus_ , he thinks. He'd forgotten about them entirely in the last few minutes, which might have been unforgivable except that they're watching, with James' hands stroking down over Richard's chest and teasing at his nipples, standing peaked through the fabric of his tee shirt. Richard is squirming into the touch and James' lips are parted, his eyes dark.

"I wanted you to myself this first time," Jeremy rumbles. "Selfish, I know. And— I thought, I mean. It might be easier with just me. Because… you haven't done this." Andy can hear the question underlying that sentence.

"No," he says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Haven't. Never wanted to, until… you three. Never found anyone else I wanted after that, so."

Jeremy groans. "I'll make it good," he promises. 

"You'd make it better if we could get more than a look in," Richard says tartly, and Andy snorts out a laugh at the break in the tension. Not that it isn't heady to be the center of focus, but laughter is safer ground, something a little more familiar. 

"C'mon, Jez," James says. He's smiling, but his eyes are sweeping down over Andy's body, an almost physical caress. "Let us have a taste, at least."

"Oh, all right, all right," Jeremy says. He slides his hands up Andy's back to his shoulders and then gives him a little push. "Go on then."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Andy says, but he crosses the room anyway and then goes to his knees in front of the chair. "I—" Richard's hand goes to his face, tilting his head up, and then they're kissing hot and hard. Richard is more aggressive than Jeremy, taking what he wants; Andy gives himself up to it, and by the time Richard pulls away he's breathless and aching. Then it's James' turn, a little slower but no less intense for that, seeking, like he wants to wring every last bit of sensation from Andy's lips. 

When that kiss ends, Andy is trembling. He can see why Jeremy thought it might be best to ease him into this. Even with just kissing it's overwhelming. 

James waits until he's managed to get a hold on himself before he puts his hand on Andy's shoulder, strokes his thumb up over the column of his neck. "Don't you dare doubt," he says fiercely, "that I want you as much as Jez does."

"And that goes for me, too, you know," says Richard.

Something in Andy's chest eases at that. He hadn't even realized he'd been worried about it. He puts one hand on Richard's leg and one hand on James', hoping that he can convey what he's thinking with touch rather than words.

"Jezza's getting impatient, I can see," says James. "I don't suppose we'd better test his self control much longer."

Andy laughs. "Probably not." He levers himself to his feet and turns, and— Christ. The way Jeremy looks at him. "Jeremy."

"Come here," Jeremy says softly. Andy goes. When he gets close enough, Jeremy tugs at the hem of Andy's shirt and pulls it up over his head; Andy hears it land, somewhere, but he can't focus on it because Jeremy's hands are on him again, smoothing down over his belly and then up again to rub tight circles over his nipples. "I s'pose we could give them a show," Jeremy says, manhandling him around so that they're standing back to chest. It's a gamble to let it happen like this, half-bare for all of them to see instead of a hasty fumble under the covers, but Andy hasn't got this far in his life by playing things safe, and he won't back down now. And James and Richard are still watching as avidly as before – they must see something worth looking at.

Jeremy starts touching him again, long trails of his blunt fingernails and the caress of his palms. Andy groans at the touch, feeling it shiver all over his skin. "Good?" Jeremy says, and Andy lets his head loll back. His hands go to Jeremy's thighs, something solid to brace himself against.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, fuck, that's good. Jez—" Jeremy's hands don't stop, now teasing and pinching and rolling the peaks of Andy's nipples between forefinger and thumb until he's flushed and shuddering. "Jez, _shit_ ," he says. Jeremy's mouth is pressed to the top of his head just at the edge of the bald spot. 

"I want you," Jeremy says. "I want every fucking bit of you."

Andy has to close his eyes at that, because he doesn't dare see the look on anyone's face when he responds. "You already have it, you idiot," he says.

Jeremy groans, pressing himself even closer and then dragging his fingertips down over Andy's chest to the buckle of his belt. "Off," he mutters. "Off, for fuck's sake." Andy opens his eyes, lifts a hand to assist but Jeremy already has his belt undone and is sliding down the zip, pushing at the waistband of his jeans until they slide unceremoniously to the floor. Across the room, Richard is wriggling out of his own jeans, although they're a hell of a lot more form-fitting and it takes substantially more work, even with James' help.

"Is this monkey see, monkey do?" Andy asks, but it comes out breathless.

"Well, Hammond's pretty much always up for eating a banana," Jeremy says, and it's not even a particularly good joke but he's working his hand into Andy's pants as he says it and his palm is warm, his fingers callused and strong. Andy's had other people's hands on his cock before, of course, but there's something uniquely heady about tonight.

"That's a terrible old line," he manages.

"Yes, but I'm a terrible old man."

Andy can hear James snort at that, but he can't focus for more than a fleeting second because the hand in his pants is stroking him in earnest now. Having Jeremy actually touching him is very different than his late night fantasies – sweeter, like he's being handled with care. Maybe that shouldn't turn him on as much as it does, but oh god it does. "Jeremy," he breathes. "Fuck—"

"Good?"

" _Yes_." Andy's hips are rocking into the touch and there is sweat gathering in the hollow at the base of his spine. And suddenly he's close, really close. He puts one hand on Jeremy's wrist to still him. "I didn't even get to touch you yet."

Jeremy shivers against his back. "D'you want to?"

There's something in his voice— Andy tugs Jeremy's hand out of his pants and spins around. "I'm certainly not going to say this very often," he says, "but on rare occasions things are actually about you."

Richard barks out a laugh from behind him and the corners of Jeremy's mouth turn up into a shy smile. Andy starts unbuttoning Jeremy's shirt as efficiently as he can – which isn't much, given the way his hands are shaking.


End file.
